


The Varied and Terrible Love Lives of Clinton F. Barton and Philip J. Coulson

by Dazzledfirestar



Category: Avengers (Comics), Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Sexual Content, mention of homophobic national policies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dazzledfirestar/pseuds/Dazzledfirestar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life doesn't tend to move from point A to point B in a straight line and sometimes the journey to get there is just as good as the destination. Especially when you have no idea where that destination actually is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Varied and Terrible Love Lives of Clinton F. Barton and Philip J. Coulson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadowen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowen/gifts).



> written for avengersfest on LJ.

**Fifteen years ago** **:**

 

It was hot, stuffy and even the fan in the room couldn’t seem to get any of the far too heavy air moving. It was official. He hated Guyana. Phil blew a slow breath out from between his lips and watched as Nick packed up the surveillance equipment. “No, it’s fine. I can manage. You just sit there.”

 

He smiled. He couldn’t quite help it. He found himself getting to his feet and putting several listening devices back in their cases. “Sorry, boss.” He had half a moment when their fingers touched where he had flashes of Director Jones having to bail them out of a Guyanian prison for what their government called ‘indecent acts’. But the flash faded and he found himself pressing a demanding kiss to Nick’s lips.

 

The logical part of his brain said this was quite possibly the stupidest thing he’d done in a long time. They worked well together. They were friends. A million and a half reasons why Nick shouldn’t be—but was—kissing him back. A million reasons why that calloused hand that was creeping up under his shirt shouldn’t be, but was; how the way he found himself moaning into the kiss and pressing closer to Nick in a search for contact should have been embarrassing, but wasn’t.

 

When Nick pulled back, they were both breathless. Nick’s hand cupped the back of Phil’s neck as they sat there on the floor of the cheap motel room. “When we get back, we’ll finish this.”

 

All Phil found himself able to do was nod and lean in for another kiss before they started packing up again. So that was how it started. That was how Phil Coulson’s staunch and never broken personal rule of ‘Don’t fuck anyone you work with’ went flying at Mach 2 out the window.

 

The flight home didn’t seem to go nearly that quickly.

 

Looking back on it, Phil wasn’t entirely sure the whole thing wasn’t just a case of things being easier if they didn’t have to go out and find somebody else. He cared about Nick. He always would. There was no question in that. And they worked well together. They were great friends and Phil was more than willing to admit that the sex was fantastic but…

 

“I don’t think we should do this anymore.” The words came out so easily, even laying there beside him.

 

Nick made a noncommittal noise before he spoke. “You’re going to give me the better friends than lovers speech, aren’t you?” He chuckled and Phil let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “You’re probably right.”

 

What neither of them said was that they both knew if they let things go much further, there would be no hiding it. There would be questions, both from outside of* the two of them and from within. The council would have a hissy fit. With Nick’s likely promotion to Director, things could very easily look like they’d been rigged in Phil’s favor. They weren’t, of course. Nick would never do that, but that wouldn’t stop the whispers and the looks and all the stuff neither of them had time to deal with, given the jobs they did.

 

If things had been going somewhere more than steady fuck buddies, maybe they both would have considered risking it and thumbing their noses at the gossips. But it wasn’t. Not really. They weren’t going to crash and burn. That wasn’t really either of their styles and Phil was willing to admit—only if he absolutely had to—that they were both getting too old to hold those kinds of grudges.

 

Though the laugh that left Nick wasn’t quite the reaction he’d been expecting. He rolled over and looked at the other man as he lay there shaking his head. “Well, it was a hell of a good bye fuck, Phil.”

 

“We could give it one more go, if you’re not completely satisfied.” Phil couldn’t quite stop the smirk on his lips from turning into a grin.

 

 

**Seven Years Ago:**

 

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. But before it could become that, apparently it had to be a train wreck of ill-advised romantic attachment—her words, not his—first.

 

“How do you know I won’t kill you and leave while you sleep?”

 

That was the moment he told himself he’d marry this woman. Once she wasn’t an evil ex-Soviet brainwashing victim anyway.

 

“I don’t.” He shrugged and pulled back the covers of the double bed in the cheap motel before turning toward the radiator behind him and knocking on it. “So you have two choices. One, I handcuff you to this thing and you sleep on the floor.”

 

“And the other option?”

 

“I handcuff you to the headboard and you promise not to kick in your sleep.” He wouldn’t have tried it normally. In fact, he wouldn’t have risked sleeping until Coulson got there but something about her… He was hoping those weren’t going to be his famous and epically stupid last words. “Your call.”

 

“I could get out of those before you woke.”

 

His eyebrow went up and he smiled. “Radiator it is, then.”

 

“Is this really your pitch?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You’re going to tell me that I would do well working for SHIELD, yes? That I wouldn’t have to run anymore?” She stared at him over the bed. “Handcuffing me to a radiator is the best way you have to do this?”

 

“I’m not the one with the pitch, sweetheart. He’ll be here in the morning.” He smiled a little, half-assing it because obviously she wasn’t in a listening mood. “But yeah. Everything you just said. It applies. All of it. And it’s a pretty good deal.”

  
“Compared to what?”

 

“Compared to life now.”

 

“And how would you know?”

 

His smile faded and he sat down. “Because I was you five years ago when this guy pitched this shit to me. Same guy that’ll be here in the morning actually.” He shook his head, keeping the memory of that first meeting from rising completely to the surface. He wasn’t ready to share that with her. Not yet. If she came back with them, then he’d see. “And he’s not some full of bullshit suit. There wasn’t a single lie in what he told me. Not even five years in.”

 

The way she’d looked at him that night had been enough that he had to fight the urge to squirm. It would turn out she was really good at making him squirm. That was something he learned gradually—well, as gradual as one could consider a couple months worth of working together—over the course of building up some kind of trust with her.

 

And he knew on some level that whatever was going on between them was different for both of them. For one, he wasn’t dead yet so obviously it wasn’t work related for her. And he was still there in the morning, so it wasn’t a cut and run situation for him either. If it had been, neither of them would have put up with the constant jabs, the fights, the anger—really just another word for passion in the long run but still—they brought out of each other.

 

It almost felt like a relief when she kneeled over him in the gym. “This is getting in the way of the work.”

 

“Yeah.” He nodded and she took her knees off his arms so he could get up. “So… friends?”

 

“Partners.” She took several steps back and grabbed the towel she’d set just outside the ring.

 

He nodded again. Partners worked. And that was that. Their break up was the most peaceful thing about the entire relationship.

 

**Five years ago:**

 

“You what?” Phil stared at the paperwork, eyes wide and if Clint was honest with himself that was not the reaction he’d be expecting.

 

“I got married. What?” Clint leaned over the desk. “Did I forget to dot an i?”

 

“No.” Coulson’s voice sounded clipped. That couldn’t be a good sign. The only time he sounded like that was when Clint really messed something up.

 

“It was a spur of the moment thing. I would have invited you if we’d actually… you know, had a wedding…”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

“Doesn’t sound fine.”

 

“It’s none of my business, Barton.” Coulson shuffled the pages and stuck them back in the file. “Congratulations though.” He added it belatedly. He knew that but something about this didn’t sit well with him. “So who is she?”

 

“Agent Morse.”

 

“As in Nick Fury’s internal affairs attack dog, Bobbi Morse?” Phil’s eyebrow shot up. “Are you trying to fend off an investigation I don’t know about yet?”

 

“No! No, it’s not like that.”

 

“Alright.” Phil pulled more paperwork out of his inbox and started in on it. “Don’t keep her waiting.”

 

“What?”

 

“She’s just outside, isn’t she?” With that the door opened and the beautiful blonde stepped in. “Bobbi.”

  
“Hi, Phil. Hope he didn’t give you a heart attack.”

 

“Wait… you two…?”

 

“The Fury connection, babe.” She laughed and wrapped an arm around his waist. “I’ll get him out of your hair, Phil. See you around!” She pulled Clint out the door before Phil could say anything to the contrary.

 

Sitwell came in on their heels, watching them walk away. “Are they…?”

 

“Yes. And apparently it’s official.” Phil patted form 35-R2F.

 

“You’re kidding.”

 

Phil shook his head. “I give it six months.” It was crass, probably a bit uncalled for. He knew that. But something about all of this getting married business didn’t sit right. He reminded himself of that over and over again as the rumors flew about SHIELD’s power couple. Clint didn’t say much. Things like ‘its fine’ which didn’t seem to bode well.

 

Then she went missing.

 

It was like throwing a switch. Phil saw parts of Clint during those weeks he hadn’t seen since the first few months Clint had worked at SHIELD. The only person who seemed to be able to get him to calm down and think for a few seconds was Phil. Even then, he wasn’t entirely sure he would be any more careful, any more controlled if someone he loved had been taken by an enemy. “This isn’t helping anyone, Barton.” He said the words over and over for the three weeks it took to find her.

 

The state they found her in… it seemed a miracle when Clint pulled her up into his arms and she told him she’d be able to walk on her own, thank you very much. As she passed Phil though, he caught the look in her eye and knew why she wanted to walk out on her own. There was something deeply satisfying in handing Bobbi Morse the gun she shot her captor with. Even if Clint didn’t seem to approve.

 

Phil offered Clint as much time off as he felt he needed to help his wife. He did his best not to react when Clint turned him down.

 

Natasha turned out to be the fountain of information that Clint usually was. Phil was not surprised. Not really. He had always gotten the impression that the best spies in the business were also the worst gossips. “They’re fighting. Not like before, when they’d argue and then have sex on the nearest flat surface. They’re actually fighting.” She sat on the other side of his desk, twirling a knife in between her fingers.

 

Phil didn’t look up from his paperwork. “It’s really none of our business unless they ask us for our opinions, Natasha.”

 

“If you say so.”

 

“I do.” He put his pen down and met her eyes. “They’ve been through a lot. Individually it would be hard to come back for that. The two of them together…”

 

“Compounding the problem?”

 

“Maybe. It’s not my marriage. I can’t know for sure.” Phil picked his pen back up and finished off that day’s pile of paperwork. Natasha let it drop and left.

 

Clint figured he probably should have taken the time off.  The thing was, looking back, he figured that out after Bobbi had pulled away. It all came out eventually in the worst ways it could. She turned to him, eyes bright, looking for a fight. “What are _you_ so angry about?”

 

“You shot the guy.”

 

“Yeah, no shit! He’s lucky that’s all I had time for.”

 

“That’s not the point, Bobbi!” He wasn’t entirely sure what the point was but it felt like she’d taken something away. He couldn’t figure out what had been taken or from who but some line was crossed and even though it probably made him a hypocrite to think that way, he was pissed. “He should have gone back to HQ. We should have taken him in! What the hell were you thinking?”

 

She filed for divorce two weeks later.

 

**Three Years Ago:**

 

This was a colossally, epically, undeniably bad idea. He knew that. He was willing to bet she did too. But adrenaline was a funny thing. Reaffirming that the bad guys didn’t actually kill you this time was a heady experience. And having her lips pressed to his as she pressed his back to the door of the safe house bedroom… no matter how bad the idea was, it was hard to resist in the moment.

 

He swallowed hard, trying to kick his brain back into gear even as she sucked on the spot where his neck met his shoulder. “Bobbi…”

 

When they’d been running for their lives from the HYDRA base they’d been sent to check out, he hadn’t seen fear in her eyes. In that moment though, as she pulled back, he did. “It’s… shit. I’m sorry. We don’t—“

 

He cut her off, pressing a demanding kiss on her before moving them further into the room. “I’m game if you are.”

 

She laughed and the tension in the room melted along with the fear in her eyes. “I think I’ve made my stance on this pretty damn clear, Agent Coulson.” She bent and unbuckled her boots before kicking them off and falling on him again, taking them both down onto the bed.

 

It wasn’t what he was expecting though. Not that he’d spent a great deal of time wondering what sex with Agent Morse—Bobbi, she told him to call her Bobbi—would be like. But he’d been a part of ‘thank god we aren’t dead’ sex before and something about this was different. There was no rush. No hurry to get it done. No sudden bouts of shyness. He had no illusions that, if they hadn’t been running for their lives earlier, this would still be happening. But he appreciated that there wasn’t some need to justify it.

 

She slipped her hands down his chest once they had gotten out of their clothes. He never had a clear memory of how that happened, though two piles of soaking wet tactical gear on the floor attested to the fact that it had happened. What his memory latched onto was the sound of rain on the tin roof, the dim light coming through the window and the way the shadows played across her skin as she straddled his hips.

 

One hand settled in the middle of his chest and she smiled. “Let me…”

 

He nodded, doing his best to not quote recovery reports in his head. If she needed to control this, he had absolutely no problem with that. She’d gotten him almost painfully hard just kissing him and apparently it had worked for her too. His hands gripped her hips as she slowly slid down his shaft. She let out a throaty, satisfied groan as she took him in. His head fell back against the paper thin pillow as he echoed her groan. “Jesus…”

 

“Been awhile, boss?” She smiled as she slowly rolled her hips. Every muscle shivered around him and she gasped.

 

“I could ask you the same question.” He sat up, kissing her deeply again.

 

She set a rhythm of slow, deep thrusts. Her hand moved over his chest, occasionally teasing a gasp out of him by dragging her finger tips over his nipples. That made her smile. His hips snapped up, more out of instinct than anything and her head lolled back. “Fuck… you’re good at this.” She laughed and her hips picked up speed.

 

He let out his own breathy laugh and let one hand move from her hip, up to cup her breast while the other crept across her stomach and he pressed his thumb on her clit. She cried out and he smiled. “I try.”

 

They spent hours learning every sensitive or ticklish spot; every place that when kissed, sucked or touched got a gasp, whimper or moan. Afterward, spent, sweating and satisfied, they laid there listening to the rain on the roof and the occasional rough breath from either of them. “So…” Bobbi laughed softly; the sound barely making it to his ears with the rattle on the tin roof. “That was fun.”

 

Phil laughed. He couldn’t quite help it. “Fun’s a good word for it.”

 

“I don’t usually fuck my handlers.” She didn’t sound like she was making an excuse, or thought he would think less of her if she did.

 

He rolled over, resting his head on his hand and he smiled. “I don’t usually fuck my assets either.” He half shrugged. “Adrenaline does things to us all sometimes.”

 

She shook her head. “I get it now.”

 

“Get what?”

 

“Why he always wants to work with you.” Bobbi’s smile became a little more wry as she spoke. “Clint.”

 

“Oh. Well, to be fair, you got a far more thorough handling than he does.” Phil laughed and ignored the quick rush of guilt that followed her words.

 

She stared at him for a minute and let out a small ‘huh’ before rolling on her back again.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.” She rolled again, facing him and pressing another demanding kiss to his lips. “Want to check out the shower?”

 

They spent three days there before their extraction and debriefing. They’d decided early on that whatever happened in that safe house stayed between them. Neither of them were fond of being gossip fodder after all and they’d agreed that while the sex had been amazing, that was all there was to it.

 

Nearly a month after getting home, Clint practically kicked Phil’s office door in. “Something I can do for you, Hawkeye?”

 

“Oh, you know…” the words were casual, the tone was not. “Just wanted to check in. See how you’ve been. How was that trip? Was the mission a success? Oh, and you fucked my ex-wife.”

 

A mean little part of him wanted to say things like ‘Yes, Barton. I made her scream my name for three days’. He knew better. No doubt he’d catch an arrow somewhere uncomfortable for that and truth be told, he’d probably deserve it. So instead he sighed and sat back in his chair. “She told you?”

 

"No. I wouldn't be this pissed off if either of you had sacked up and told me! I overheard two techs talking about biometric readings in the safe house in wherever the fuck, Laos. They giggled, Coulson. That can only mean one thing."

 

"I think you're overstating your point here."

 

"You fucked my ex wife!"

 

"I know. And it won't happen again. It was adrenaline. A... an affirmation."

 

"Of what?"

 

"That we weren't dead.” He let the implication sink in. He couldn’t go into detail about what happened prior to the safe house experiences but Barton knew enough that when he said something like that, he meant it. “You can't tell me you've never gotten caught up in that feeling before."

 

Clint bristled visibly. Of course he knew that feeling. "Not with your ex."

 

The mean part of Phil couldn’t quite resist that one. "Are you sure?"

 

“Even if I did… which I didn’t.” Clint glared at him. “This is against some rule book somewhere. You’re my friend!”

 

That took Phil back more than anything else. Sure, he knew they got along but that Clint thought of him as a friend; someone important enough to be held to the bro-code apparently… that was new information. “It won’t happen again.”

 

“It better not.” The door slammed shut before Phil could respond again. He shook his head and went back to work. It wasn’t until later, at home on his couch, with the good take out and Pawn Stars on the TV that he started to wonder exactly why Clint had been so jealous.

 

The thought was pushed aside with another mouthful of kung-pao chicken and watching Chumlee try to explain why the staff should be wearing costumes for Halloween. Everything about Clint Barton and SHIELD faded away for another twenty minutes or so.

 

  **A year and a half ago** :

 

She was intelligent, cultured, talented, beautiful… and on more terrorist watch lists than Phil could name off hand. That was impressive… in a way. He’d read the file over before going out to spend a night listening to her play. The plan had been very simple and probably too obvious but it worked. He complimented her after the show, she smiled and he offered to buy her a drink.

 

What he hadn’t planned on was falling for the daughter of the world’s leading mutant extremist.

 

She called him on what he really did for a living on their fourth date and he was sure it was a sign he should either marry the woman or run as fast as possible in the opposite direction. She simply smiled and told him everything he might have wormed out of her eventually. “Now maybe you can take me on a _real_ date.”

 

She told him everything; how she got pulled into the Brotherhood in the first place. How her father—though she hadn’t been aware of that little bit of information at first—had saved her life and planted the idea that she owed him her allegiance because of it. How her brother stayed with her through thick and thin despite what the group was doing. How she escaped. Everything.

 

He had her name taken off the watch lists he had access to three months after their first real date.

 

On and off again was the best descriptor for the two of them. They didn’t fight or break up, but long absences were common for work, mostly for Phil but occasionally Wanda would get a job out of town for a few months. She’d been more than patient with his near constant travel to the west coast and the near relocation to New Mexico. Regardless, they would both pick up the phone as soon as it was reasonable to do so and call when they had time. Phil was aware that his version of reasonable and hers didn’t always line up, but for the first time in a long time, he wanted to _try_.

 

When they did find themselves in the same city at the same time, Phil did his best to be a gentleman. Dinners were always an adventure. She had a want to try every kind of food they could track down. There had been a few nights when, after one of those experiments, they’d find themselves at a hot dog cart and shaking their heads. But it was always interesting, always something new, and always fun. As if she were trying to make up for all the fun she should have had when she was younger by having as much as possible as an adult. Phil was not complaining. In fact, it was something he started to think he had been missing out on.

 

For all this, he wasn’t entirely sure about the whole relationship and he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. She was, theoretically, everything he should want. Of course there were the occasional bumps. Her brother finding him in her kitchen making breakfast one morning had been more than interesting.

 

“Who the hell are you?”

 

Before Phil could answer, Wanda was shuffling her brother into another room. He caught bits and pieces of the conversation. None of it seemed terribly complimentary from Pietro’s side. Wanda got so frustrated with him at one point she stopped speaking English and slipped into a language Phil didn’t actually speak. The analytical part of his brain tried to identify it. He was pretty sure it was a Romani dialect but that was as far as he got.

 

He was never sure if Pietro hated him because he was dating Wanda or if there was more of their father in there than he wanted to admit. He chose to believe it was the first option.

 

“I’m sorry.” She said, draping herself over his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his neck. “He’s… impatient.”

 

“I gathered that.” He reached up, taking her hands in his and pressing a kiss to her wrist. He smiled, hoping she wouldn’t feel guilty because of the things he’d heard. The human-mutant factor was something they’d both been aware of, but having it shoved in her face repeatedly… well, Phil was betting things would fall apart after that.

 

But they didn’t. They continued on comfortably casual except when they weren’t. Except for those moments when Phil could almost hear his mother’s voice asking him what he was waiting for? Why wasn’t he marrying this girl? Pepper had said pretty much the same thing when he told her about Wanda. She’d asked when she should pencil in a wedding, only half kidding obviously. Except… he didn’t have an answer for those questions. Nothing solid really. No real answer for the ‘why not’ everyone was throwing at him. Just a gut feeling.

 

And then, it wasn’t up to him anymore.

 

She’d been tense. More than tense. He knew why. He’d seen the reports on the Brotherhood’s activity. They’d moved closer and closer to New York and the closer they got, the more nervous and jumpy Wanda got. He wanted to ask what she had to fear, knowing how powerful she was. He wanted to tell her that she wasn’t the impressionable young girl she’d been when she’d met her father for the first time. He wanted to tell her that, if it came to it, they’d have to go through him to get to her.

 

She didn’t give him a chance. The note was short; too short, he felt, for what he’d thought they’d shared. She told him she cared. She told him she couldn’t risk her father finding her with him. She wouldn’t risk his life even if it meant she couldn’t see him again. And she was gone.

 

Luckily, work kept him too busy to really dwell on it. In that respect, if no other, Phil figured he owed Loki a thank you.

 

**A year and a half ago:**

 

He felt empty. Hollow. Incomplete.

 

Natasha kept telling him it was Loki; that the feeling would pass. How she missed the real reason Clint couldn’t bring himself to feel anything, he wasn’t sure. Or, maybe she was avoiding the subject because she hadn’t dealt with the grief either. He was betting on the second option.

 

But he couldn’t see the point. Why bother feeling anything when it was way too fucking late? Why bother digging up all that stuff that he should have known, should have seen, should have done something about years ago when now… No. There wasn’t a point to that. There was no point in making a bad situation worse.

 

He’d fucked up completely. He’d fallen in love and never noticed. He’d gotten the one person he always trusted—that one weekend with Bobbi notwithstanding—killed for all intents and purposes. Suffering and pining for a dead man wasn’t going to change that.

 

The thing was, not feeling anything took a lot of work on this one. Most of the dull ache he wrote off as Natasha told him to. It would go away. But every so often something would drag his mind away to some too-late night at HQ or some cheap diner in the middle of nowhere during a mission. Some memory of _him_ would float to the surface and it took everything in him not to feel… what he figured he’d be feeling if he let himself.

 

So he found the nearest, cheapest, dirtiest bar and he sat down with a bottle of Jack Daniels, intent on not feeling anything at least until the hangover kicked in.

 

He didn’t drink often. If he listened to the psych evaluations over the years, he’d probably agree that he had a fear of turning into the drunken fucking asshole his father had been. But there were exceptions to every rule and mourning a man you’d loved and never told… well, Clint was damn sure that was an exception.

 

Or it would have been if Steve fucking Rogers could mind his own fucking business.

 

He was only a couple drinks in. That was probably a good thing. But when Steve sat down, another wave of memories hit him and Clint nearly snarled.

 

_They found him! I can’t believe they actually found him!_

 

“What do you want?”

 

Steve didn’t seem phased by the venom in Clint’s voice. “To make sure you don’t do something you’ll regret.” He reached out and poured himself a measure of the whiskey. “Besides, nobody should drink alone.”

 

“Jesus, are you for real?”

 

“Yup.”  Steve raised his glass and clinked it against Clint’s. “What are we drinking to?”

 

Clint couldn’t quite hold back the laugh that left him before he took a sip. “You think it’s going to be that easy to get me to open up?”

 

“It was worth a shot.”

 

“Thought you couldn’t get drunk.”

 

“I can’t.” Steve took a long drink from the glass. “Doesn’t mean I can’t still enjoy it for its own sake though.”

 

“Fair enough.” Clint raised his glass again and drank. One more glass was all it took for his mouth to move without his say so. “I shoulda said something…”

 

“About what?” Steve put his glass down and surreptitiously moved the bottle away from Clint.

 

“I…” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I lost a friend during… everything.”

 

“Oh.” Steve spun the glass between his hands for a second. “In New York?”

 

“No…”

 

“Oh… _oh_. I’m sorry.”

 

“Yeah. Me too.” Clint sucked an ice cube from his glass into his mouth and crunched on it for a bit before he continued. “And I want to blame him for being stupid or Fury for sending him into something so fucking hopeless. But the thing I can’t get away from is… it was my fault. I never told him and… it’s my fault.”

 

“It’s Loki’s fault.”

 

“Yeah… directly it’s all Loki’s fault. I know that. I know.” He nodded slowly. “I know that. But Loki wouldn’t have… if I hadn’t led that attack on the carrier…”

 

“You’re talking like you had a choice in it all. From where I was standing, you didn’t.” Steve leaned back. “I’m sure your friend knew that.”

  
“If anybody would have gotten it… yeah. Phil would have.”

 

“Phil?” Steve’s eyebrows seemed to try to knit themselves together for a moment. “You and Agent Coulson…?”

 

“No.” Clint did his best not to sulk. “No… nothing ever…” He sighed and eyed the bottle Steve had put out of his reach. “I don’t even know if he would have been open to the idea but—” Clint swallowed hard and made himself face Steve. If he couldn’t tell Phil, he could tell Phil’s fucking hero. “I loved him. Love him. Whatever. I just never said anything.”

 

Steve nodded, which for some reason caught Clint completely off guard. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

  
“I didn’t actually figure this out until just recently. Too fucking late.”

 

“Ah. Yeah… okay. I get that.”

 

“Yeah, right.”

 

Steve sighed and took a drink from his glass. He seemed to belatedly remember it wasn’t going to do him any good. “I lost a friend too. Watched him fall and… well.” He started spinning his glass again. “I never said a word to him about it. I’m pretty sure he… I mean, I’m glad I didn’t ruin a friendship over it but…”

 

Clint wasn’t sure if it was the bourbon or that lost look in Steve’s eyes as he talked. That look looked really familiar. It’d been staring back at him for a couple weeks now every time he dared to look in a mirror. So whether it was that or the drinks, he wasn’t entirely sure, but before he could stop himself he had a hand on the back of Cap’s neck—Phil would kill him for this if he was alive—and pulled him into a quick kiss.

 

“Clint…”

 

“Just comfort… I can’t promise anything else. If you say no, it’s no. I wouldn’t want to make things weird but…” he let the sentence dangle for a moment. “I need to feel something, Cap.”

 

Steve studied him in a way Clint wasn’t used to from most people. Phil did it. Natasha could do it when she wanted to and did every so often. Okay, she did it far more often lately but still. He barely managed not to squirm before Steve pulled his wallet out of his pocket and slapped a couple bills down on the table. “Let’s go.”

 

The walk back to the tower was surreal. They didn’t say anything. There were no sudden stops to make out in darken corners. There were no indications that they’re going home to do anything but pass out and let the hangover kick in. Clint was starting to think he’d read this entirely wrong and Steve was going to hand him a glass of water, a couple aspirins and send him to bed when the elevator door opened and Steve’s hand moved to the small of his back, leading him out and toward his room.

 

Clint finally got some confidence back in his ability to read his teammates when Steve’s hand drifted down from the small of his back.

 

Clint’s mind got ahead of him and wondered what this was going to be like. He felt a shiver up his spine as he thought about the fact that he’d likely have Captain fucking America’s dick in his mouth in a few minutes. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes against the heat of that thought.

 

But his brain wasn’t playing along. In his mind’s eye, the hand on his back wasn’t Steve’s. It wasn’t Steve that he wanted to taste. And his mind was providing him with the perfect picture of what it was he really wanted.

 

He skidded to a halt and shook his head. “I can’t do this…”

 

“Okay.” Steve turned, giving Clint some space. When he smiled, Clint knew he wasn’t expecting this to go any further. “It’s your call.”

 

“It’s not fair.” He finally choked out. “It’s not fair to you that you lost your friend before you could do anything about it. It’s not fair that I lost Phil…” He swallowed hard. “It’s not fucking fair!”

 

“I know.’

 

“We saved the God damned world, for fuck’s sake! The universe owes us!”

 

“I know.”

 

“I should have been stronger! I should have made sure he didn’t—” Clint tried to hold back what he knew was coming. Maybe it was better to get it out. Get it done in front of someone that actually wouldn’t bring it up again if asked. “ _Why?_ Why him?” He felt his knees buckle but played it off as sitting down—exceptionally hard—on Steve’s couch.

 

He heard Steve sigh. “I don’t know. Why anybody?” Clint turned, obviously ready to spit venom at Phil being lumped with the faceless masses. “What I mean is there always seems to be something left unsaid, undone, whatever. I don’t think there are many people that get it all tied up in the end. Especially not when they do what we do.”

 

Clint grumbled. He could feel the wave of regret and grief rolling in on him. “Right.”

 

“Come on.” Steve patted his shoulder. Clint watched as he got up, went to the fridge and pulled out a large bottle of water. “Let’s get you to your own bed.”

 

Clint would have laughed if he hadn’t felt so miserable. He did the next morning though, when the bottle of water was joined by two aspirins. “Thanks, Cap.” He muttered to the empty room as he took the aspirin and went back to sleep.

 

**A year and a half ago:**

 

He knew that noise. That was a good and bad noise. The steady beep was good. It meant he wasn’t as dead as he had figured he’d be. But it was annoying and even through whatever they were pumping into him, it made it hard to sleep. And sleep was good.

 

Obviously whoever’s shift it was on the inevitable sit-with-the-unconscious-guy time table agreed with him. He could hear the soft in and out of their breath and the vague snoring sound as they resettled into a comfortable position that seemed very familiar. This meant whoever was on watch was someone close to him. Despite what the new recruits thought, he was not aware of the sleeping habits of everyone in SHIELD. Just those he knew and trusted.

 

It took a couple tries to get the sleeping man’s attention. His voice wasn’t working all that well, his throat was painfully dry. Muscles didn’t want to move when he told them too, but finally a set of blue eyes blinked open. “Holy shit… you’re awake.”

 

“Kind of.” Phil tried to motion toward the water. Clint picked it up quickly, pouring some in a glass and maneuvering the straw to Phil’s lips. A few swallows later and he could get his voice to work. “How long…?”

 

“A couple weeks. I guess you were a lab experiment for awhile. They weren’t sure if…” Clint swallowed hard and didn’t try to hide it. Interesting. “They didn’t even tell Fury until yesterday. He told the rest of us once he tracked everybody down. Said he didn’t want you waking up thinking he’d scared everybody off.”

 

Phil smiled, or at least attempted to. “That sounds like him.”

 

“Right well… I guess they tried some big untested thing on you when… when things went bad and it worked so you… you know, you’re alive and I should really let the pros explain all that.” Clint smiled and shook his head. “Guess you have something in common with Cap now. You’re both lab rats.”

 

Phil made a hopefully affirmative noise and laid back on the thankfully nicer than regulation pillows. He took a deep breath, or as deep as the bandages and pain would let him and blinked slowly up at the ceiling. “Well, then… I guess it could be worse.”

 

“Have dinner with me?”

 

Phil paused. He had to have heard that wrong, or the drugs were messing with his understanding of tone. Either way. “What?”

 

“When this is all over and you’re back on your feet, I want to take you out for dinner… like… you know…” Clint rubbed at the back of his neck.

 

Phil stared. Not only was this completely out of the blue—at least he thought it was. Maybe it wasn’t. He’d have to think about that—but the reaching back motion made it very hard to avoid looking at his arms. Which, Phil was more than willing to admit in that moment, were spectacular. But that wasn’t the point. “Could we maybe have this conversation when I’m not higher than the ceiling?” There was a distinct possibility that he was imagining all of this. The entire conversation could be happening in his head. Heavy drugs did funny things to people, after all. That wasn’t an excuse to—“You have fantastic arms, you know that?”

 

Well, fuck.

 

“Yeah?” Clint chuckled. Apparently that broke the tension in the room. “You can tell me all about it after you get some more sleep, okay?”

 

“That seems fair.” A memory hovered on the outer edge of his awareness for a moment before it clicked into place and he opened his eyes again. “Clint?”

 

“Yeah, boss?”

 

“How’d they get you back?”

 

Clint smiled. “Natasha knocked some sense into me. Literally.”

 

“Good. Someone has to do that more often.”

 

“I’ll let her know you approve of her methods.”

 

“Okay. Tell her to visit too.” Phil yawned and settled back into his pillow. “Clint?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I’m glad you’re back.”

 

“Same goes.”

 

They left it at that for so long that Phil wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t imagined the conversation. But Clint was there whenever he could be. Giving him shit during the hours and hour and hours of physical therapy. Letting him know how the other Avengers were doing and how Tony wanted to stage a rescue because he was sure SHIELD medical was hell on earth.

 

There was the unfortunate madness that would forever be known as the Madlibs Incident, but they weren’t going to talk about that.

 

He didn’t actually start actively wondering if there was something going on until he went home. He expected—and had braced himself—for the state of his fridge to be a biohazard. He was sure he’d left at least a couple dishes and a few coffee mugs around that would no doubt now be home to sentient life. But when he opened the door, he was welcomed by a clean apartment. Not a spec of dust to be seen and a fully stocked fridge on top of that.

 

“I thought you’d appreciate not having to go shopping.” Clint followed him in, closing the door behind them.

 

“You did this?”

 

“Yeah. Well… welcome home.” Clint shrugged it off and went into the kitchen, digging through the pile of take out menus. “Hungry?”

 

Phil smiled. He couldn’t quite help himself. “You did say something about taking me to dinner.”

 

He felt a little more victorious than he should have at the blush that appeared on Clint’s cheeks. “Yeah… I wasn’t sure if that sunk in or not.”

 

“It did. I just thought I’d been hallucinating or something. I didn’t think…” Phil licked his suddenly dry lips. “There’s a great Thai place a couple blocks up.”

 

“Wait, you didn’t think what?”

 

“I hadn’t really thought about us… dating before.” Phil took a few steps closer, leaning a little on the counter.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Clint, come on. Don’t pout.”

 

“I am not pouting.”

 

“Well, don’t do what you’re doing then. I just meant I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

  
“You’re kidding right?”

 

“No. I’m not.”

 

“Phil… Jesus, you really don’t see it, do you?”

  
“See what?”

 

“Look,” Clint took hold of his good shoulder and turned him to face the apartment. “Do you think I’d honestly do all this for someone I didn’t care about? If I just wanted a piece of ass?”

 

“Well… no.”

 

“The truth is…”

  
“Maybe we should have dinner before the truth?”

 

“What are you afraid of?”

 

“I…” Phil leaned on the counter and sighed. “I don’t want to fuck this up.”

 

Clint did something irresponsible, ill advised and, frankly, stupid in that moment. He closed the distance between them, cupped Phil’s cheek and kissed him. There was nothing tentative about it; nothing hesitant. He poured everything he’d felt when he thought he’d never get a chance to do this into that kiss. He pulled back when they were both breathless and smiled. “I love you.” He leaned in and kissed him again. “And you won’t fuck this up.”

 

Phil swallowed hard and stared at him for longer than Clint thought he would. “We’re going to have to take this slow…” Phil took a deep breath and pulled Clint closer for another kiss. “I don’t want to but…”

 

“Right.” Clint chocked that up as another reason to hate Loki forever. “I’ve waited this long. So…” he ran his thumb over Phil’s bottom lip, smiling as he kissed it. “Dinner?”

 

That was the moment Clint realized how much he loved making Phil laugh. It’d been fun before, but in that moment, he was sure it was his new favorite thing to do.

 

If they’d had their way that night, things would have gone differently. They closed down the restaurant and walked back to Phil’s apartment. When Clint pulled back from what he was guessing was a good night kiss, Phil caught his wrist. “Stay.”

  
“We can’t—“

 

“I know that.” He tugged on Clint’s wrist. “Stay anyway.”

 

“Okay.” Clint was willing to admit that falling asleep—the best sleep he’d had since Loki showed up—with Phil’s arms around him was a test of his self control. Every dirty thought, every tender thing he wanted to do with this man floated through his mind. That didn’t stop him from spending nearly every night there in bed with him until medical finally gave him the all clear.

 

Clint stumbled back when Phil came out of the exam room and practically tackled him. “Home. Now.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Clint ignored the rush that came when Phil groaned a little at the ‘sir’. It was noted for later though. The drive back to the apartment was a blur. The next clear thought in his head involved getting his and Phil’s clothes off as quickly as humanly possible. He stopped, though, when that happened; his fingers tracing over the new scar on Phil’s chest. “Phil…”

 

“I’m fine.” He put his hand over Clint’s and pulled him in for a deep, tender kiss. “I’m right here. I’m fine.”

 

Clint nodded. “Right. Yeah. I know.”

 

“You’re thinking too much right now.” Phil pulled him down onto the bed.

 

Clint sighed. “Okay. Okay, I’m sorry. Just…” he reached between them, slowly stroking Phil’s cock. “Let me take care of you, okay?”

 

“You’ve been taking care of me for weeks.” Phil kissed him tenderly. “I think you’ve earned a turn.” He chuckled and pressed Clint back against the mattress. He kissed a trail down Clint’s chest, pausing here and there when Clint groaned and gasped. He ran his tongue slowly over the crease between Clint’s leg and the rest of him and Clint’s hips bucked up a little. “I should have said it earlier… weeks ago but…” Phil looked up the line of his body at Clint.

 

“Not now… tell me after.” Clint smiled down at Phil, cupping his cheek and smiling wider as he leaned into the touch. “Once we’re in that blissed out, hazy, perfect place… tell me then.”

 

“You got it.”

 

Clint’s head fell back against the pillow, an unintelligible string of filthy nonsense left his mouth as Phil sucked and licked and nipped at every sensitive spot. “Fuck… please…” Clint lifted his hips, offering himself up. He groaned and—okay, fine—pouted when Phil pulled back. He didn’t have much time to complain as Phil’s lips closed around the head of his cock and the tip of a slick finger teased his ass. “Fuck me!”

 

“Eventually.” Phil smirked up at him and let his finger slide further in. “So tight…”

 

Clint nodded quickly. “Been awhile. Oh god, Phil…”

 

“Okay.” Phil sucked on the head of his cock again and Clint nearly lost it. “We’ll take this slow.”

 

Clint had been unaware up to that point that ‘take it slow’ could translate to ‘I’m going to take you apart over and over again until you’re begging for it’. He liked this translation. A lot. Every groan, every gasp, every whimper—that he would never admit to later, even under pain of death—seemed to get an answer from Phil and that was something else Clint filed away for later use. “Come on… please…” He lifted his hips, taking Phil’s fingers deeper.

 

He felt more than heard Phil chuckle. “You want more?”

 

“I want you!” Clint sat up, grabbing the small bottle of lube and slowly slicking Phil’s cock up as he kissed him. “I want to ride you. I want you so deep I can taste you. I want to come with your cock inside me. Fuck…”

 

He moved them so Phil was on his back though he was fully aware that if Phil didn’t want to lie down, there wasn’t much to be done about it. Clint straddled his hips and reached down, holding onto him as he sank down.

 

Phil gripped his hips. “Take it slow.” He sat up, kissing across Clint’s collarbone. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

Clint groaned and let his head fall back. “Not made of glass, boss.” He smiled, letting out a low, breathy chuckle. He rolled his hips after he was sure he could handle it and cried out. “Fuck… that’s so good.”

  
“Yeah?” Phil laughed a little against his chest, arms wrapped tight around him. “I could say the same to you.”

  
“What’s stopping you?” Clint bit back another groan as Phil matched the slow rhythm he’d set.

 

“You feel fucking perfect.” He flicked his tongue over Clint’s nipple, driving another needy noise from his lips. Clint cried out again when Phil wrapped his hand around his cock. “I want to watch you come for me.” He muffled a groan against Clint’s chest. “Come on, Barton.” He smirked. “Show me what you’ve got.”

 

Clint gasped, bucking up into Phil’s hand and back down onto his cock. The intensity of it, the connection… it was too much. “So close… fuck, Phil…” The feel of Phil’s lips on his skin, his hands on him, of having him inside. It was overwhelming. He couldn’t find the words to say so before every muscle pulled tight and he cried out, coming over Phil’s hand and stomach. “Don’t stop…” Clint gasped through the haze as Phil’s rhythm slowed. “Please… wanna feel you come inside me. Fuck, please.”

 

“Jesus, Clint…” the words came out harsh and hoarse but Phil kept his rhythm even as Clint leaned down and whispered every dirty thing he’d ever thought about Phil to him.

 

“Wanna do this bent over your desk. Right before a meeting. Want you to fuck me raw…” Clint kissed him, deep, hard and dirty as Phil’s grip on his hips tightened and he came. He kissed him through it, rolling his hips just to hear the soft little groans Phil let out at each tiny movement. “Wow.”

 

“Yeah.” Phil pressed on his hips and Clint took the hint, reluctantly climbing off and watching as Phil made his way to the washroom to clean up. “So…” His voice echoed through the space between them. “What now?”

  
“I don’t know.” Clint groaned as Phil threw a warm cloth at him to clean up with. “Could have saved you the trip back and gone to the shower.” He winked and laughed.

 

“Not what I meant, but we’ll save that idea for next time.” Phil lay back down, wrapping his arms around Clint and pulling him close. “There is going to be a next time right?”

 

Clint smiled and kissed him with all the love and tenderness he’d been unwittingly banking up for the past few years. “Yeah, I’d say that’s a safe bet.” He tucked his head against Phil’s shoulder and traced a wide pattern around the scar on his chest.

 

“Clint?”

 

“Mhmm?”

 

“I love you too.” Phil opened his eyes and ran the backs of his fingers over Clint’s cheek. “You said to wait to tell you until we hit the hazy, blissed out phase. I’d say we’re there.”

 

**Yesterday:**

 

The smell of the good coffee and fresh waffles—blueberry? He was hoping they were blueberry—woke him up. It had been a good night. No nightmares. No random phantom pains. He’d slept very well.

 

“Are you getting up or am I going to have to call in sick for you?”*

 

“Like Nick would believe you.” Phil sat up, staring at the man in the doorway. There was flour smudged across the bridge of his nose and Phil didn’t want to know what the state of the kitchen was. “But I suppose you are my medical proxy so…”

 

“I’m a hell of a lot more than that, if you remember. And I already called.” Clint mock-frowned at him and moved into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I know I won’t forget.”

 

“The smell of waffles means you didn’t. Or you did until last night and this was the best last minute gift you could think of.”

 

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Phil’s lips. “Your breakfast, your present and your day off are waiting.” He got up and shook his head.

 

Phil pulled him back, kissing him again, remembering where they’d been a year ago. Remember the warm glowing feeling of saying this was it. Clint was the one he was going to spend the rest of his life with. He rested his forehead against his husband’s and smiled. “Happy anniversary to you too.”


End file.
